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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23763472">Boxed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawmm/pseuds/rawmm'>rawmm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>At The Mountains of Dadness, Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:53:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23763472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawmm/pseuds/rawmm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasnt just yoga that gets passed down through the Oaks</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Oak/Mercedes Oak-Garcia, Hilde Russet/OC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Boxed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So the idea of Henry's mind box wouldnt leave me alone and then this happened.</p><p>Trigger warnings for ATMOD spoilers, violence, PTSD, panic attacks (?), Meryls death and cthulhu-esque shit</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hilde didn't know what to do. She couldn't cope with this. She couldn't deal with this. This entire journey had been full of things that she wasn't sure that she could cope with. First Stud had been blinded. Then the train, with all those </span>
  <em>
    <span>things </span>
  </em>
  <span>trying to kill them. And now Meryl was dead. Lying at her feet, his beautiful face destroyed by whatever JJ had turned into. And there was still that film. There was still whatever it was that JJ was trying to summon. And Hilde didn't know what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her and Stud had read that book trying to find some answers about this, somewhere, but there was nothing to help her right now. She couldn't heal Meryl. She couldn't put whatever it was back in that box. She couldn't stop JJ. The world was going to end and the only thing she couldn't do anything.But maybe she could stop the film. If she could stop the film, maybe she could block the things way out. Even if it was only for a little while. She could buy Stud and Robert some time to escape, to get somewhere safe. They couldn't stop the end of the world. But she could slow it down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dashing forward, drawing her knife she reached out to grab the film, gasping in pain as its sharp edges cut and slashed into her. It was agonising and the blood didn't so much as fall as it did flow from her, but somewhere, deep in her heart Hilde knew in that moment she’d messed up. The creature drew its power from the film, and Hilde felt as though she’d only made the film stronger. But she had to do this. She had to slow it down. Desperately she waved her knife blindly, attempting to ignore the pain and hit the film. To slow down the end of the world. She had to. She had to do something. But it was so hard. And she was just waving the knife around, praying that she was at least doing something, but the film was ripping, tearing into her wounds, seeping into her and entwining into her veins. She had to do something. But it was so hard. The film had reached from her blood and was now in her heart, her throat, clouding her vision, choking her. She could see and feel every scratch, every imperfection, the searing heat as it burnt her eyes and twisted her mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn't do this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn't stop the end of the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn't even slow it down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she did the only thing she could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She began to scream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry would often wake up in a cold sweat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn't explain why and he couldn't put the words to it to explain it to Mercedes. It was just, something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his dreams, even before the Purple Robes started showing up, just weren't right. Every night he would dream of film rolls, of creatures that didn't exist and a woman screaming. Every night he would wake up in a cold sweat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't something he was worried about. He had been having these dreams for as long as he could remember, even when he was in the commune. He’d tried talking to his father about it, but he had just given him breathing exercises to do to help him calm down. Soon Henry knew that he wasn't supposed to talk to his father about these dreams and he couldn't explain it to Mercedes without sounding crazy, besides these dreams felt strangely personal. Like he knew the woman in the dreams. Like she was real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew they were just dreams. That he could push the cold feeling down and put it in a box where he didn't have to think about it. So he threw himself into living his life. He focused on Mercedes, on his beautiful boys and his rap albums. He could pick and choose exactly what he wanted to focus on, he was very good at that. He could ignore that Lark and Sparrow weren't doing so well in school, or that he could sometimes feel electricity running through him that was more than just static, that threatened to burst from his soul, and  he could ignore that he felt a bone chilling fear whenever Mercedes would put on an old black and white film. He could ignore it. He could just put it inside a box and keep it closed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the one thought that Henry couldn't keep in that box was the idea of the twins dreaming. Of course he wanted his beautiful boys to dream, but he wanted them to have nothing but happy dreams, of them running riot in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, of them joining up with The Avengers and saving the world, of them reaching their full potential. He wanted nothing but happiness for his children. But there was a feeling deep in his gut, that these dreams wouldn't stop with him. From the way his father reacted when he tried to speak to him, Henry had no doubt that he had the exact same dreams, and he knew for a fact that his Grandfather had nightmares too, but he also knew that his Grandfather had served, so he just assumed that the nightmares were PTSD. So every morning over breakfast he made an effort to ask his beautiful boys about their dreams, to make sure that they weren’t waking up screaming like he did at their age. To make sure they didn't dream of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry thought they were safe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then the school asked someone to design the new mascot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the twins showed him their drawings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry was looking down at the creature that was haunting his dreams. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the box began to open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hilde didn't know how long she was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To her it felt like an eternity. In reality it was probably only a few months. Hilde just didn't know. She had been fighting for her sanity everyday. Praying for a break from the torture that wrecked her body and mind, so for Hilde time was no longer relevant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she finally came home, it didn't feel like home any more. Everything just felt, different. The cars were too loud, the people too many, she couldn't bring herself to watch a film and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her. She couldn't cope. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't get rid of It. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She just needed some time, she decided. Just some time to not think of It and to heal. But she couldn't avoid it. Meryl was a big celebrity, his death was reported everywhere, Robert’s fiancee was determined to find him, which meant her constantly calling Hilde for information and Stud just wanted a friend. But she couldn't cope with that. She couldn't finish her article, she couldn't ride the train anymore, she couldn't sleep through the night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter what she did she would wake up screaming. Her husband got her to try whiskey, cigarettes, yoga but nothing helped. Even five years after everything it wasn't the baby that was waking them up each night, it was Hilde. She couldn't help but dream of monsters, pain and the deal she had to make. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But tonight it was worse. She had slept for maybe an hour before she dreamt of blood, and creatures so now she was with her baby. The one person she could tell everything to without them thinking that she was crazy. Normally just being in the same room as Barry would soothe her, but tonight she couldn't shake a gnawing feeling in her stomach. It was a sickness deep down in her soul and took her back to a place she hadn't been in years. Suddenly she was smelling fire and blood. She was choking on film that wasn't in her throat, as her lungs screamed for air. And suddenly she wasn't looking at her baby anymore, she was holding Meryl's destroyed, mangled head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With trembling hands she placed Barry in his crib, whirling around the empty room. Someone, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>was watching her. She could feel the eyes on her in the empty room and her breath came in short sharp gasps. It had come. It had come to collect. And there was nothing she could do. She couldn't even protect her family. Desperately she reached for something to use as a weapon, grasping at anything she could. But it was futile. It was here. And there was nothing she could do. Finally she saw It, the glowing eyes watching her, and her eyes welled with tears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had come for her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had come to claim her family. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as the tears fell from her eyes, she let herself whisper the name that she had kept boxed up for years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doodler”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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